


A Reasonable Sacrifice

by SolivagantSleepyhead



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Gore, this is so gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 08:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2262459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolivagantSleepyhead/pseuds/SolivagantSleepyhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You suppose he found you at the worst time possible; that it was misfortune that caused him to become the straw that broke the camel’s back. But, after all, insufferable is as insufferable does, and you doubt anyone else could have pulled such a violent reaction from you.</p><p>But he’d come up to you when he did, his mouth already running full throttle as he droned on and on about your “pr96lematic 6ehavi9r” and you’d lost it. You’d completely, entirely lost it.<br/>---<br/>Tumblr user whats-up-with-homestuck wanted something like this and im garbage so i did the thing</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Reasonable Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> ok this is obviously completely different from everything i've ever written so that.  
> Hope and Home is still happening, so much shit is going on right now though with College Apps and SAT testing and fucking senior year so, please, bear with me for a little bit.  
> anyways, sorry for gore, etc etc

To say you hadn’t expected the game to last as long as it did would be an enormous understatement. 3 sweeps was a long time—far longer than any of you had initially anticipated to be stuck together as you were. It went without saying that there was contention between most of you, especially when faced with the inevitability of how pointless your deaths would serve to be. You were a doomed timeline among infinite others, and eternity did nothing to help the slowly building irritation in the pit of your stomach, the monotony of the same 11 trolls with their same stories and mannerisms for eternity.

This is what you expected eternal damnation might be like—it’s strange to think that this was the _better_ alternative to complete nonexistence.

You suppose he found you at the worst time possible; that it was misfortune that caused him to become the straw that broke the camel’s back. But, after all, insufferable is as insufferable does, and you doubt anyone else could have pulled such a violent reaction from you.

But he’d come up to you when he did, his mouth already running full throttle as he droned on and on about your “pr96lematic 6ehavi9r” and you’d lost it. You’d completely, entirely lost it.

His jaw went slack as your chucklevoodoos delved into his pan, finally severing the seemingly endless torrent of words dripping from his lips. That should have been enough. You should have been able to step away, like you always did.

You didn’t. Not this time.

He needed a lesson in respect, empathy, and, most of all:

Still poking around inside of his head, you morphed the bubble into a memory of your hive—a place where you knew there was little chance of being found. You kept your hold on his mind as you tied him up, securing him from doing you harm before you slowly allowed him to come to recognition.

You’re almost ashamed of the thrill you got from watching the apprehensive terror creep onto his features as he slowly became aware of his position.

“Kurloz, what is the meaning of—“

 _SHUT UP, MOTHERFUCKER_. You commanded telepathically, watching a shudder of fear tear its way down his spine.

_ABOUT TIME YOU UP AND LEARNED A MOTHERFUCKING LESSON, ISN’T IT?_

“I-I don’t—“ He stuttered, flinching as you slammed your open palm onto the wall beside his head.

 _SHUT UP._ You warned, glaring down at him. _WE CAN DO THIS THE EASY WAY, OR WE CAN DO IT THE MOTHERFUCKING HARD WAY. YOUR CHOICE._

He’s shaking beneath you now, and it’s making your pumper do funny things as a sadistic grin stretches its way across your stitched lips.

“I-if this is your way of attempting to proposition me for a black rom relationship, then I must respectfully decline! As you know, I am celibate, and I intend to stay that way, thus—“ He rambles, trying to bring any sense of normality into the conversation; a pointless attempt at covering up the blind terror you can feel as you slip into his pan once more.

_THE HARD WAY IT IS._

The blade in your sylladex drops into your waiting palm, the cold, crispness of the metal seeping through the fabric of your gloves, and you can see Kankri’s eyes widen even more, his tiny body pressing as close as it possibly can to the wall.  

“Please—“

You don’t even let him finish his statement, grasping control of his mind once more. This _is_ a punishment, though, so you allow him enough consciousness to feel the first incision you make on his vocal chords.

The effect is instant. Viscous red blood gushes from the wound, dripping into the hand you have cupping his face as every alarm in his head screams in agony. His body is silent, only red tears showing any sign of the unbearable agony tearing its way through his body. You continue on, his suffering blending into a bearable cacophony as you focus on the fine slices you make, effectively severing sinew and flesh and _finally_ , his vocal chords.

There’s so much blood that you’re thanking the messiah’s that you’re already dead, because the sheer amount of it gathering on your hand, his sweater, and the floor would have been enough to kill him, easily. He’s screaming inside of his mind, begging you to _stop, please_ , but you don’t; you can’t. No one should ever have to be lectured by this motherfucking heretical _mutant_ ever again.

You make the final incision, staring into the bloody, mangled mess that his throat has become in something like awe. Somehow…seeing it was impossibly different than _doing_ it. You quell the rising queasiness in your stomach for a moment as you look into his bloodied, tear soaked face.

 _Did he always look so small?_ You wonder. He looks so much like a wriggler with that vulnerable expression on his face. So young. So small.

You can’t feel remorse, though. The monotony of eternity has taken that away from you. _He deserved this._ You remind yourself. But, somehow, it seems to carry less truth than it did originally.

Because he flinched when you get too close, you have to overtake his pan completely before you can subdue him enough to remove his makeshift restraints. As soon as you do, he curls himself up into a tight ball, rocking gently back and forth and manages to look overwhelmingly tiny—frighteningly breakable. The lacerations across his throat are still gushing blood down the front of his sweater, dyeing the already garish color even brighter. Sobs are still wracking his small form, and you know that they must be heartbroken, tormented sounds, but they hardly make a sound now. He no longer has the ability to.

It’s too much. The cold, quiet of the room is seeping into you slowly. _Not remorse._ You tell yourself. _Disgust, maybe_.

You take control once more, his muscles relaxing entirely as you pull the small mutant into your arms. Summoning up a hazy memory of his respite block, you drop his limp form down on the resting platform as quickly as possible. His blank eyes weakly following you as you make your escape, only lingering briefly in the doorway to cast him one final grin.  

 _THAT OUGHTTA SHUT A MOTHERFUCKER UP_ :o)


End file.
